


convergence

by deadlybride



Series: zmediaoutlet [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 23:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Dean has a thing for how Sam's bigger than him. Sam also has a thing for that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anon said:   
> _you should definitely talk about size differential!kink bc absolutely same_
> 
> This isn't quite a formal story, but I wanted it stored somewhere for easy access. Ahem.

Let’s talk about—

That first time, when Sam’s eighteen and hitting that second-to-last growth spurt, still mostly skinny because he doesn’t eat enough but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him—he just goes up and up, and Dean’s buying him new jeans again and Sam tries them on in the grody Goodwill dressing room and comes out and Dean thinks, _what the hell_. Sammy’s long long legs in jeans that fit, for the most part, though his shirt’s too short and pulling when he stretches so that line of bare stomach peeks out. He comes up to Dean’s side and Dean’s conscious for the first time of looking _up_ and there’s a moment where his stomach goes weird and hot. _Oh._

Or—

Dean doesn’t like being shoved around. Has enough of that out in the field, and he’s been thrown into enough walls for a lifetime. And—it’s not that Sam _shoves him around_. That’s not it. But—sometimes, if it’s been a long day and they’re tired, and Sam gets that kind of intense look around the eyes, sometimes then, Dean will find himself caught up by the hips and— _urged_ , maybe is the word for it, pushed step by step back until his shoulders are up against the motel-room wall, and even if he’s standing up straight Sammy’s standing up straighter, looming, his shoulders blocking out the lamplight, having to bend his head to look into Dean’s eyes, and that, that Dean doesn’t mind, so much.

Or—or after, sometimes, when they’re older. Dean broadens out a lot more, takes up lifting in the bunker, and he likes the look it gives him. His shoulders look good. Except—Sam’s bigger, still. Sam’s always bigger. Puts on muscle like it’s nothing and he’s still got those long, long legs, and Dean still doesn’t think of himself like a fainting damsel or anything, but it _does_ something to him if Sam gets all worked up into a mood and hauls him in close and picks him up, being showy, using his strength like he usually doesn’t. It yanks at the pit of Dean’s stomach, lights him up like nothing else, and he pretty much goes liquid, lets Sam lay him out and do whatever he wants, then. They have good sex, fun sex, and they each have their little kinks and foibles, and he’ll maybe never be over how Sam likes his hair pulled, or how he likes to get tied up, sometimes. Sometimes, though, what Dean wants is exactly this, and he doesn’t really know how to ask for it, because how do you ask that? _Sammy_ , he could say, _I like that you—that you’re tall. That you’re bigger than me_. He’d get no end of shit for that. Still. Doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it. Doesn’t mean that, when Sam gets into a mood, he can’t go onto his back on their bed, let Sam loom over him with those shoulders, his body just… bigger, his legs longer and his hands huge as they trap Dean’s against the bed. Doesn’t mean he can’t go light-headed crazy with watching Sammy’s bigger dick slide up against his, can’t cup his bigger balls and love the way they feel, the way they weigh heavy against his own lighter skin. When Sam flips him on his stomach and he spreads out, gasping, he can love how Sam pushes up inside, big and inescapable, weight crushing Dean down into the mattress, and watch Sam’s hand twine with his, longer fingers and bigger palm, and love how Sam’s big enough that he blocks out everything else, his arms braced around Dean’s head, his long long thighs bracketing Dean’s, so that Dean’s left feeling—small. Caged, cradled, pinned. He doesn’t say a thing about it, doesn’t ask. Doesn’t have to. It’s just—a fact. Sam’s bigger than him.

(Thing is—Sam knows it, too.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon said:
> 
> _ohmygod if you don't write more about size differential!kink, especially re sam being aware of/having a kink for his own size, I will - I mean - actually no I can't do anything about that but i can assure you further thoughts on size kink would be so so so so very welcome_

When Dean got—Sam doesn’t even know what to call that spell.  _De-aged_. When Dean was little, it… felt weird. To say the least. He half-remembers that face, though in his memories he was always looking  _up_ , at one of those cocky, infuriating, amazing smiles, getting drawn in close under what felt then like a big kid’s arm, getting noogies. Dean winning every fight they had, wrestling him down to the cheap motel carpets or into the dirt in the trailer park, beating him in footraces on longer legs, climbing to higher branches in old twisty trees, so that Sam was looking up, saying,  _no fair! It’s just because you’re bigger!_

That’s not so, anymore. Even less so, during that crazy case, but Sam didn’t expect the weird… twist, somewhere deep. He didn’t look at it too hard, and anyway, it’s not like there was time for them to—to  _do_  anything. There was the woman to save, and the witch to kill, and by the time Dean saved the day he’d stretched back up to his real self and Sam was relieved, more than he could say, to have him back. His brother. Yet—and yet also no, he doesn’t think that they would’ve—it would’ve been weird, right, to—not when Dean was that small. Dean might not even have gone for it, and then Sam would’ve had to live with the squirmy feeling of asking.

It’s just that Dean was always bigger than him, always, and then he—he wasn’t. It’s not something Sam noticed so much before he left (other than the tiny bite of glee when he climbed up over six feet and Dean stayed just the same), but when Dean came and got him, when he was back… Yeah. He noticed. He remembers standing up straight on some case, once, looking over the top of Dean’s head out a window, his shoulders blocking Dean’s, so that someone looking might not even notice that there was another person standing there, and it shuddered right through him, left him… very aware. More so than he’d been with random girls, or with Jessica. It wasn’t anything special to be bigger than a woman. With Dean, though—

In the bunker, once they’re on the same page again, they fuck around more comfortably than they ever have, because it’s easy access, easy to roll over and just push and ask, no big deal. He’ll be sitting at his table in the library and Dean will walk up, two beers in hand and that particular grin tugging at his mouth, and Sam will pretend to sigh, all resigned, but he’ll tug Dean onto his lap anyway and bury a smile into Dean’s generous mouth. He’ll wake up horny, some dream nagging behind his eyes, and there’s Dean’s soft sleepy body laid out right next to him and he’ll turn over and slide his hand down and Dean’s always ready, always eager, pushes back and opens up and lets Sam in even if it takes him a while to wake up, and it’s good. It’s really, really good.

Doesn’t mean that he doesn’t think about it, though. It’s not—it’s not a  _kink_. He doesn’t think so, anyway. How can you have a kink for—for yourself? That’d be the worst kind of narcissism, and it makes him feel almost queasy to think about it like that, and anyway, it’s not like it’s anything he actively seeks out. Only—only sometimes, he’ll push Dean up to sit on the kitchen island and they’re still the same height, Dean’s legs wrapped around his waist while they make out but his eyes level with Sam’s, and Sam just—he notices, is all. Or sometimes, if he’s fucking Dean, say, and he gets Dean laid out on his bed and lays over the top of him, if he wraps a hand around Dean’s and holds it smaller and trapped up against his chest, Dean gasping glassy-eyed under him, and when Sam surges forward Dean’s shoved up the bed with the force of it, body trapped and controlled under Sam’s bigger one—he doesn’t think it can be his fault if that winds him up so high he can barely think.

First time in a long, long time was after he got Dean out from under the Mark, out from under its thumb, and they were safe and okay, after Sam got that stupid sling off. Dean was almost shy, as much as Dean ever could be, and Sam came to his room, closed the door quiet behind himself, and it didn’t take long before they were kissing, soft and easy. Dean unbuckled his belt right there, went down on his knees right there with Sam still pressed up against the door, and hell, Sam’s never going to turn down a blowjob, not from Dean. Sam watched, tracing fingers over the shell of Dean’s ear, while Dean unzipped his jeans and tugged them and his briefs down all in one go, down to his knees, and he  _saw_  the second his dick flopped out, the way Dean’s eyes went wide, his lips parting. Like he’d never seen it before. Dean wrapped a hand around the base, licked his lips, flushing up pink with the skin of his ear hot under Sam’s fingers, and Sam groaned just at that, watching himself just get—bigger, in Dean’s hand, filling up fast, and Dean flicked a glance up at him but then closed his eyes, licked once over the head so that Sam’s hips flinched and then stretched wide, sliding down hot and wet but not making it, not even close, because Sam’s  _too big for him_ , and it lit up Sam dark on the inside, imagining. How Dean would choke if Sam tried to get all the way inside. How his eyes would water, how his face would go dark red and his breath would come short, and Sam pumped his hips, couldn’t help it, and—and yeah, Dean backed off, though he left his hand in place while he coughed, and Sam said instantly  _sorry, sorry_ , but Dean only shook his head and dove back down, so all Sam could do was grind his head back against the door and try to hold on.

Once, Sam wondered about—measuring. He never has, just because he could actually feel himself blushing just from the thought, and it was for a moment so intensely embarrassing that he’s never really revisited. He’s surprised Dean’s never wanted to. Seems like the sort of thing he’d want to do, drunk and cheerful, and if Dean asked Sam’s not sure he’d say no. He’s not sure he wants to  _know_ , though. It’s crazy-making enough as it is.

Tonight, he’s fucked Dean once already and he managed to hold back, didn’t come, so Dean’s left warm and boneless on the bed, random muscle twitches and sweat cooling, while Sam fists himself slowly, kneeled up at the foot of the mattress. He likes watching, after. “Mm,” Dean says, eyes closed, all deep, “you takin’ your time, or what?” Sam smiles, though Dean can’t see it. God, he’s hard. He feels like stretching it out tonight, though. He slides up Dean’s body in the lamplight, lets his palms trace up his knocked-open legs, up to the top of his thighs where they’re still quivering just a little. Looks at how his hands are big, there, his thumbs long enough to dip down to where Dean’s lube-smeared and hot. Dean makes a little  _mm_  sound, again, and Sam stretches up and covers his mouth, tastes it. He wants to fuck him from behind, he thinks, and settles his knees on either side of Dean’s, so it’ll be easy to flip him over when he’s ready. For now, though, he just lays down, uses Dean like a pillow. He gets a little  _oof_ , and pops up enough to grin at Dean when he gets a sleepy-eyed glare for it. Dean doesn’t shove him off, though. Probably couldn’t, at least not right now, and at the thought Sam grinds his hips forward, idly, lets himself slide up against where Dean’s gone soft, come sliding stickily between them. Dean’s mouth parts and he takes in a breath, and Sam just—wants to see, right then. It’s not like Dean will even notice. So he lifts back up, half a push-up, just to look, and—oh,  _fuck_ , yeah, he looks goddamn massive up against where Dean’s soft and small and flushed, Sam’s own dick pushing heavy against it so it curves gently back up to Dean’s smeared-wet stomach, barely half the size of Sam’s, even his balls looking small in comparison as Sam grinds up close, nearly covers him up. Fuck, it looks—incredible, and Sam licks his lips, glances up, and—Dean’s eyes are half-shuttered, but he’s looking, too. He’s watching. Sam pushes, again, and Dean’s flushed so dark, and—and he can’t—this can’t be—but he shifts his weight, wobbles a little when he’s holding himself up with just one arm, but he drags a hand down anyway, gathers them up in a loose grip (and he can’t, he can’t wrap a hand all the way around them both, because he’s  _too big_ even if Dean’s soft), and he pulls up, an easy jerk because he knows Dean must be sensitive, but it’s—Dean hisses, but then lets out the breath kind of—all in a shudder, skin shivering up against Sam’s, and when Sam glances up Dean’s not looking away. He presses Dean up small and vulnerable against his shaft, feeling monstrous, feeling massive, and when he says  _Dean_ almost voiceless Dean looks up and meets his eyes, his own  glassed over like Sam’s fucking him right now, blush streaked down his throat. There’s a huge awful delight rising up in Sam, straight from the pit of his stomach, his balls aching with it, and he leans forward, plants his hand on Dean’s shoulder so he’s crushed down into the mattress, and it’s not—okay, maybe it  _is_  a kink, after all, but it turns out that maybe Dean won’t make fun of him for it, and it’s not like there’s any special equipment required, or some elaborate scenario needed. All that’s required is that Sam be… himself. Dean blinks up at him, pinned just by Sam’s bigger body, and Sam grins and leans down and kisses him, fizzing darkly with joy.

 


End file.
